Redemption
by D.K. Archer
Summary: SLASH--based in Fox's Peter Pan and the Pirates, it won't make sense if you haven't seen the show.


Redemption 

Disclaimer: Fox's Peter Pan and the Pirates is owned by Fox, the original characters are owned by that children's hospital, and I own none of them. Pity. WARNING: This is a mature fic, and while it contains nothing graphic, it contains slash, drugs, questionable consent, and an underage participant in sex. If you think reference to such will bother you, you may not wish to proceed. 

  


The tavern smelled of spent oil, thin liquor, and piss colored beer; sweat caked men, boot leather, unwashed skin, old wood; tobacco smoke, sour resin, the faint smell of feminine flesh from whores and barmaids, and the sun boiled ocean outside the door. It wasn't in any way a remarkable tavern, being filled with sailors and locals alike, scattered liberally over the tables and benches. Each side wall had four windows, all of them cracked and dirty, and the back wall presented a door and a staircase. The door led back to a room filled with barrels of beer and lager, and a rack of round little wine jars made of clay. The stairs led up to the attic, partitioned into sparsely decorated rooms, which the whores rented out as they saw fit by the night. The back wall also supported the silent hearth, which in this summer heat lay dormant and cold without a coal in its belly. 

Beside this hearth was one of the few noteworthy features of this tavern, that being a patch of ground where the boards had been pried up, exposing the grey dirt beneath the building. A sober man would find it hard to miss, but the gap had caught many a drunkard in its lifetime, and the barmaids had begun a tally of its victories as a pet amusement on slow night; the wall behind the hole was marked with three sets of five in white chalk. Several times had the girls petitioned the tavern keeper to hire someone to mend that sore, but always he argued that it wasn't worth the coins to fix it and it did no harm to anyone with a brain in their head, anyway. 

Danger or no, the barmaids carefully sideskirted it every time they came through with liquor. There were three of them there that night; the twins Maggie and Emily, two giggly things with a mean streak down the middle, and Annie, who was as blonde and blushed as anyone could want. The latter whisked through the aisle with two glass mugs in each hand, her blue skirt sticking to her legs from the sweat of the heat. 

"Here you are, gents. Pay me now so I don't have to dig through your pockets when you pass out." she said with a smirk, setting the mugs down expertly in the worn table top. 

"You say that like it would be a bad thing." Mason said with an amused snort, dropping his coin into her hand. 

"Oh, I have sharp fingernails, you know. I can't be held responsible for the damage I'd do in there. If there's anything to damage." She was rewarded with a laugh from the other three. The pay was dropped into her palm by the black haired man and two coins from the one with a scar over his eye, paying for the black boy's drink as well. She tucked them into her apron pocket and winked good naturedly at the scorned carpenter. 

There were only five figures in the tavern from the dread ship Jolly Roger. Four sat at the table, each determined to achieve varying levels of inebriation (except for Jukes, who didn't mind the beer so much as the sickness afterwards). The fifth was the bo'sun, who had been intent on staying aboard ship with the captain and cook, until Hook had pushed his namesake up against the man's throat and threatened to gut him if he had to put up with the idiot for one moment longer. The bo'sun was currently pinned to a bench. 

Through no intention on Smee's part, the irishman had managed to become the point of attention for the black haired twins in their identical green dresses. The girls had watched him swallow two pints of the vile black lager in quick succession, then stayed close to watch him fall down drunk, giggling that the fool must have been raised on milk and water to think he could handle that much at once. When, by the third pint, Smee could still walk in a straight line (or walk at all) they had abandoned their other duties with the sole intent on getting this man drunk. One girl had the man locked in place by sitting on his lap while the other tipped the bottom of the pint up, making him drink from it as much as he could. They'd pulled off his bandannas and tucked them in the tops of their dresses, and poor Smee looked quite helpless and confused as they giggled and pet him. 

"Women." Mullins had said, as if that explained it all. 

"What on earth does Smee have that those women could POSSIBLY find interesting." Starkey griped, running a finger around the rim of his mug. "I mean, something that isn't on every bloody man in this room." he amended when Mason smirked. 

Mullins scowled "Women never have a reason. They're random as lightening, that lot. Of course, anything hanging around THIS tavern probably has teeth between her legs. Whatever they're after on Smee won't be there come morning." 

"And you know this from experience, do you?" Starkey replied, unable to help himself. Mason laughed and Jukes snerked, covering his mouth to try and hide it. 

"Better me than you, the wenches would starve to death trying to make a meal off ya." Mullins retorted. 

Mason grinned "And how exactly is it you know what he's got down there, Mullins?" he said, raising his eyebrows. 

Before Mason could get punched in the face or Jukes found out some information he REALLY didn't want to know, the boy stood up and announced that he was going to go see about Smee (though he wasn't) 

Jukes wandered over towards the hearth, nearly tripping on the hole, and sat himself down hard on the cracked hearth bricks. Despite the heat in the air they were cold, and he was tempted to take off his vest just to have the feel of them against his back. He immediately decided against that idea, though, being too self conscious of the marked skin. 

This position allowed him a fine view of everything going on in the tavern just then, even of the drunkard lying under the table. His crew was on the far side of the tavern, their voices drown in the noise save for exclamations. Smee was to his right, babbling an excuse and trying to push the girl off his lap, but the twins would not be daunted; they'd managed to get another two pints down his gullet by now. On his left he was rather surprised to find he was being stared at. The benches had been arranged into a 'C', and upon one was a woman, who wasn't quite young but she was elegant. She wore a dress in shades of red and rested upon the bench like a portrait, bare feet up beside her and each cloth fold carefully arranged. Upon the center bench there were two men. The loudest one was a thick gent of plainly muddled bloodlines. He seemed to wear an obscene amount of lace and looked foolish even by the standards of fashion, though his companion was much more simple, bearing only a dusty neck ruff. Sitting on the floor at their feet, half under the bench, was a towhead boy in a buttonless linen shirt, trousers, and a scarf. He ignored the conversation of the three adults and leaned forward on his elbows, just staring at Jukes. 

His eyes didn't look healthy. They weren't sick eyes or even yellowed ones, but they looked almost empty, like Jukes had seen the eyes of old women look. Under one there was the faintest shadow of a healing bruise. 

Of course, the boy didn't take long to realize he'd been spotted. With a guilty slump he ducked his head in submission, white teeth prodding out to gnaw his darkened lip. A thud, a clatter, and a shout came from the other side of the tavern, and several heads popped up to see Emily of the twins knocked flat on the flooring, a tumbled mug of lager sopping the boards at her back and her skirts flown every which way. Her sister shouted obscenities at Smee, and the Irishman (who looked about as sick as Jukes had ever seen him) ignored her and bolted to the door, where he could quickly be heard retching. 

Whether it was the clatter or the girl's screeching that brought her, the blonde barmaid stuck her head out of the back room, a rag in her hand and thick wine stains on her fingers. 

"What's all this now?" She demanded, glaring at the twins, who were red with indignation and wet with lager. 

"NOTHING, Ann." puffed Maggie heatedly. 

Her sister snapped "We're just FINE!" and crossed her arms on her chest, 

"Well then clean that up and get back around the tables." 

"Yes, miss." they said in unison, each as nastily as the other, and stormed off fuming to get some rags and a wash bucket. 

The pirates, of course, were having quite a laugh at Smee's expense, and Jukes moved to rejoin them at their table save for a hot hand snaking around his arm, making him jump, and twist to see the owner. The towhead boy had slipped over to the hearth while he had been distracted. The blond boy glanced down at the contact and grimaced, pulling back quickly like he'd burned himself. 

"I told Pater you were here." he said quietly, looking down as one with guilt. "When everyone was looking at the barmaids. He wants to know who you're with." 

"Who's Pater?" Jukes asked, screwing up his face. The boy jerked a thumb behind himself, where the three adults had stopped their conversation to watch them. "Why does he want to know who I'm with?" 

"Pater bought rights to this place from the tavern keeper. Nobody else is supposed to bring their boys here unless they ask Pater first." 

Jukes frowned, not understanding. "What kind of rule is that? I'm just here with my crew, we'll be shipping out again in the morning." 

The towhead winced. "You're on a ship?" Jukes nodded. "That's rough. I was sent through Port Royale when I was five; I know what the sailors can be like. The ones in port aren't too bad, though, 'cause there's always women, usually cheaper than boys, too." The boy vacantly scratched at the skin under his scarf, the shifting cloth flashing and concealing the purple and red edges of something painful. "Maybe if your lucky Pater will try to buy you off of your man. You wouldn't mind so much working for Pater. You never have to go to anyone's house and you don't have to do it in alleys and stables. You always go up to a room, and it's not the same bed you sleep in, either." 

Billy's brain paused and tried to match that information with his situation, but failed to the point that his mind fell back onto overheard conversations while he had served aboard the Walrus, and taunts that had been set against him. Face burning with indignation and embarrassment he jumped up, letting loose a string of curses and threats on the boy that well befitted a pirate: but when he drew back his fist to strike, the towhead squealed and scuttled back to hide beneath the benches. 

"Get back here, you addle brained cully!" Jukes spat, storming after him with the full intention of beating him senseless. "I'm no whore! I'll rip your insides out! I'll gut you from stern to--OOF!" The black boy fell back onto the boards, the wind knocked out of his chest by a very large hand. One of the men, the larger and less decorated of the two, had stood from his position on the bench and frowned down at him blankly, fist still clenched at his side. 

No sooner had the boy's body hit the ground than metal flashed; a familiar cutlass blade backed not ineffectually by the pistol still tucked in the pirate's sash. Mullins moved in and pointed the blade quite neatly at the large man's belly. 

"Leave the boy alone, you scud." he snapped, looking more than just slightly intimidating, standing in full armory while the others had merely their fists. Jukes glanced over to see that Starkey and Mason hadn't stood, but were watching with different degrees of interest in the matter. The brooklyn pirate turned just the slightest, eyes never leaving their mark, and reached down a hand to help the boy to his feet. "You allright there, Billy boy?" 

"Yeah." Billy muttered, still prepared to slash someone for the insult that had been paid him. All he could see of the towhead was a sheen of glassy hair and bluish white eyes from behind the legs of his keepers. 

"Now, now, gents, no need to go up in arms..." said the creole, mouth bearing a faint smile that reminded Jukes of nothing so much as the crocodile. His eyes were disturbingly blank. "I'm sure Mr. Collary means no harm....he's only protecting our interests, as are you, I presume..." 

Mullins blinked, and his face warped into a nasty sneer. Unlike Jukes he had no trouble discerning the nature of these men; they dealt in orphans and the sons of debtors. 

"Interests nothing." Mullins prodded the sword in Pater's direction. "You keep your bloody fecking paws off of Billy if you want to keep them attached to your body, d'ya hear me?!" 

"Oh, perfectly. I have all the boys I need. Besides, there are far too many little black slave boys in this town for him to catch a price, not when they can be taken at the stables for free." 

The muscles in Mullins' back tightened and his knuckles went white about the sword handle. The man Pater seemed entirely oblivious to his situation. He casually reached into his jacket pocket and produced a twisted little pipe and a chipped wooden box. With practiced movements the man flipped open the box, selected a bit of black matter from the lot, and stuffed the same into the bowl of the little pipe. In that moments pause Jukes became aware of other eyes on them, and realized not only his shipmates but a good portion of the tavern's patrons were watching this exchange. The blonde barmaid, Annie, also took note of the pause, and used it to her advantage. She bustled forward into the curve of benches, all neutral smiles and friendly demeanor, and put her palm to the front of Mullins' cutlass. 

"Gentlemen, please, keep your swords to yourself in my tavern, hm?" she said sweetly, trying to defuse the pirates temper. "You can maim each other all you like if you take it out back, but I'd rather not stain my floors red tonight." She took the blade of the cutlass delicately between two fingers and guided it off to the side, till it pointed inoffensively at the wall. Pater fumbled with a pocket lighter for a few moments before getting the flame into his pipe bowl, and puffed till discolored smoke rose from the resin. 

The twins had drifted in behind the girl, and put on identical pouts. "Must you, Annie? There hasn't been a good fight here ever since Dharmer put you in charge." Emily grumbled. 

"You mean that you two haven't been the cause of?" she retorted. "You two git, now, I have this under control." 

And she did. The sheer time delay of her actions had worked to nullify the blind fury of Mullins for the moment, leaving instead the nasty smoldering type of anger that could be just as dangerous, but easier to control. The woman looked to Pater. "Now you, I suggest you take your boy, Mr. Collary, and widow Dawson and find someplace else to do your business for the night. And you," she said, turning to Mullins "I think should go home to the missus and get a good nights sleep. And I don't want you bringing that overgrown knife of yours in here any longer, you understand?" 

Annie patted the pirate's chest in a familiar way and gestured them towards the door. 

"On your way, then, all of you." 

Pater stood and leaned past Annie, the hollow smile still affixed to his mouth. The film of discolored smoke that had settled about him stretched at his movements, and for a long moment he just stood, puffing knots of the bitter stuff into Mullins' face. The pirate snarled and his fists tightened again, but Annie between them wouldn't let him attack. 

"Mullins, lets get out of here." Jukes said lowly. His stomach felt twisted that he saw Pater's eyes were only flesh of white and green, with the smallest pinprick of black where the pupil should be. 

"Yes, yes, listen to the boy. Shoo." Annie nudged Mullins towards the door again. Mullins glared at the woman but shoved the cutlass back into his sash, turned, and stormed off, out of the tavern. 

The woman in the red dress, who had been silent until now (presumably the widow Dawson) looked up after him, momentarily free of her stupor. "Joshua.....? Don't go......" she whispered after him, painted red mouth arcing in something not unlike sorrow. "Don't go...." The empty air of her illusion didn't answer, and after a long moment she turned from the door, pressed her aging face into her delicate, spindled hands, and started to cry. 

Jukes turned and sped after Mullins.   


It was most definitely night outside the tavern. The cobblestones of the roadway were nothing but a river of odd shadows, each stone throwing its shape from the stars, the moon, the lights of the windows, and the short street lamps that suckled from reservoirs of oil in their bellies. The ocean was left further behind them as Jukes hurried to keep up with his shipmate, who now put his longer legs to good use. The town was built as an oddity, surviving in the middle of nowhere with no value, no skill, and no function but to act as a turntable of ship crews, legitimate and no. Whatever income they needed came from the fishermen, so the village didn't fade into farmland at the edges, as most inland villages did; its paths set one strangely and abruptly into the thick forests about its ribs. 

"Shipmate, we're going the wrong way." the boy pressed, trying to get his attention. The pirate merely ignored him, and if anything sped his pace. "Mullins, stop!" he shouted after him, a rise of urgency in his voice. His dark hand reached out blindly in the wooden darkness and caught the band of the pirate's sash in his fingers. Without even a step heard missed Mullins snapped back and knocked Billy's hand away, startling the boy to yelping. Billy remained undaunted; with a bolt he overtook and turned round upon Mullins, stopping him in his path. 

"Go back to the ship, Billy." the man said evenly, though his throat hitched after. "Go back and leave me be." 

"Not unless you come with me." 

Though the woods were black, a darkness only a blind man would be at ease in, enough of the waning moon filtered through the leaves to show Jukes something was amiss in Mullins' eyes. The boy frowned and craned his neck to see, but the slightest shift of Mullins' head in the light showed him what he needed to see. The man's eyes had no black in them, only solitary points of darkness in a colored sea. 

Whatever outward reaction had shown Mullins caught it, and turned his head away a moment too late. 

"Shipmate....your eyes!" 

Mullins brought a hand helplessly over his mouth and giggled; a shrill, miserable, hysterical sound that was so alien to that throat it made Jukes' stomach drop. The boy as he stood then knew nearly nothing of the matters that could be smoked, save for tobacco, and the tainted stuff that had gone into the pipe's bowl was not within his knowledge. 

"Y-you're sick." Billy said unsteadily, taking hold of the man's forearm. "You need to come back to the Jolly Roger with me. You understand?" 

Snarling, Mullins yanked his arm away and glared a long moment at the boy, who was concerned and confused in equal measures now (with a sprinkling of fear at the top, for taste). To the side of them, past this trail of the forest, a moth drifted thru a raw patch of moonlight. Billy heard the flapping of fleshy wings and gleaned a beastie flashing through the light, and the moth was no more.. 

"Mullins?" he said softly, arm lifting to try again even as he spoke. Mullins shifted back and his mouth wavered, and in a moment he slipped down to his knees and heels on the grey earth, cradling his forehead. Jukes paused in the silence, arm uplifted still, and slowly looked down upon the man. He looked so weak, so strange, kneeling there in the dirt of an anonymous woods, trembling in himself. The boy followed him to his knees and gripped his shoulders, frightened for the man. He wasn't sure, if the need arose, that he could get Mullins back to the town on his own. The best he could do is to leave him and run on his heels back to the tavern for Mason and Starkey. He couldn't abide the idea of leaving his friend alone in the darkness. 

The man did look up at him. His eyes glistened in the faint light and the reflections bled down, tripping over the scar and tangling into his mustache. Jukes had never thought to see tears in this man, and it unnerved him greatly, and rightfully so. His palms tightened over his friend's shoulders in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, and he spoke softly, with concern. 

"Mullins...whats wrong?" 

An unsteady hand took hold of Jukes' bandanna, and through an unsure pause the man's voice spoke unevenly. 

"The men in the tavern.....I knew another. In Brooklyn." 

Mullins' hitched, and pulled the boy forward, so his unshaven lip was only inches from his ear. 

"I-I paid him, Billy boy. I was drunk. But I paid him...." 

Billy froze, breath shallow. This wasn't something he wanted to hear. He pushed back against Mullins, but the man didn't relent. 

"And the worst of it....the worst of it, Billy boy......was that the boy...didn't even...fight back......." 

Jukes whimpered and pushed his palms against his friend's shoulders, though weakly, for his resolve wavered as pressure began behind his eyes and threatened to become real. His voice trembled as he repeated himself. 

"Mullins....come back to the ship....you're sick....." 

He would have been perfectly willing to write this up to the sickness, the smoke, or whatever had caused it. He would have gladly continued tomorrow as though nothing had been said, for it was all a lie anyway. But Mullins knotted the bandanna in his fist, bringing it tight around the boy's neck and pushing against his air pipe. Jukes felt pressure on his mouth, and the bristled mustache against his cheek, though he didn't realize what had happened until it was over. The inhuman eyes just stared at him, pleading, the wet trails still bleeding down his face. 

_redemption..._ Billy's brain muttered, as it swam with the blood pounding its way past the barrier, pained and lacking in the air he could hardly breathe. He didn't understand the statement and brought his hands up to claw at Mullins' wrist, trying to force him to let go of the bandanna. Mullins did anyway. Billy gasped against the air and let his lungs fill, the urgency slowly subsiding. 

He saw vaguely as lids closed over his friend's drugged eyes, and now the hand moved gently round the back of his neck, holding him in place without force. The man kissed him again, mouth salted with tears and lips only soft against his, though they moved with a quiet desperation. Billy only froze, like one is frozen to wait out a beating, and after a long moment Mullins let a helpless sound and gave up, dropping his forehead against Jukes' shoulder. 

It was a long moment before Jukes could move. He could feel the heat of his friend's face and tears against his skin, and when his lips moved in a hopeless and soundless apology against his collar. Something in his mind was insistent: _redemption_ 

His mind showed him the images. 

He remembered the woman in the red dress; he saw her painted face crumple as her delusion left her. He saw those worn white hands come up to hide her face, looking so old just then, so terribly old. 

He saw Pater, with his ridiculous clothing and his empty smile, and the vacancy behind his eyes. 

The towhead; the creature that looked so soul-less so young, so used to his fate he didn't mind it anymore. 

Redemption? 

Jukes pushed against the man, who moved back limply, no longer keeping his will above the boys. He didn't look up. Biting his lip Billy slipped a hand forward and tilted Mullins' chin, forcing him to see his face. The boy didn't realize he was crying, but the incomplete eyes saw the tears even in the dark, and tried to pull away in shame. But the boy wouldn't let go. 

Pushing to find the courage or the will, Billy swallowed against the tears and tried his voice, trembling and meek as it was. 

"Mullins....your the only friend I've ever had....." 

Jukes took a breath, closed his eyes, and kissed him.   


On such a lovely summer morning, the crew of the Jolly Roger was awakened to the sound of the captain shouting. It wasn't pleasant, but no one had the worst of it than Smee, who, caught by the beard in Hook's good hand, was directly in his line of fire and hungover to boot. The poor fellow's face was in a permanent pinch as his skull throbbed with the words. 

"I don't CARE where you saw him last! I want to know where he is NOW, and WHY HE ISN'T ON BOARD!!" Hook bellowed, tugging the hair in his fist. 

"I don't know!" 

Hook knocked the bo'sun down onto the deck and turned to those men left around him. The crew had been instructed to return long before mornings light to set sail at the earliest moment, but here stood only five men: the carpenter was missing. 

"Well?!" He snapped. "Which one of you knows where Mason has gotten to." 

No one said a word. Cookson, of course, didn't know, and Mullins and Jukes had left the man long before the night was over. Starkey had stayed in the tavern for quite some time yet, been slapped by both the twins, been ignored by Annie, and gotten only mildly drunk before giving up and returning to the ship. Last he had seen of Mason the man had been boasting to the barmaids of his exploits, and let slip that he was a carpenter. He'd been set to work immediately with some borrowed tools and crooked wood to fix the hole in the floor. 

Fortunately for them, before Hook's temper could escalate again, a figure in a familiar blue shirt came running along the dockings towards the ship. He had nearly reached the Jolly Roger when a woman in a robe and nightgown came running along after him, blonde hair flying out behind her and waving his cap in one hand. 

"Well I'll be damned." Starkey muttered, watching him turn to take it and kissing the woman good-bye before bolting back towards the ship. "Isn't that one of the barmaids?" 

"Maybe that's where he's been, capt'n?" Smee said helpfully, only to be glared at by Hook. 

Mason's head popped up over the bulwarks and he scrambled onto deck, grinning, quite literally, like the cat who caught the bird. 

"Good to see you decided to join us, Mason." the captain said coolly. "I'd hate to think of leaving such a valued crew man behind...." 

"I got a good explanation." he replied with the grin. 

"I'm sure you do." 

The lethal hook went swinging past Mason's head to bury it's tip in the bulwark's wood. The carpenter froze, his grin gone. 

"NEVER.....disobey my orders AGAIN...." Hook hissed, only inches from Mason's face. The carpenter swallowed and nodded. 

The captain pulled himself up and glared at his crew. "Well?" he snapped. "What are you all lollygagging around for! Pull anchor and set the sails, you dogs!" 

They obeyed. 

It was not until the crew had settled into their tasks and the shoreline fell swiftly behind them that Mullins was accosted beside the captain's quarters. A dark hand snatched his arm in passing and pulled him back into the shadows of crates. 

The boy looked nervous and more than some bit concerned, but what Mullins' eyes caught was the defensive crossing of his arms, and the faint bruises on his wrists. He stared down at the deck and waited. 

"What's going on?" the boy said finally, voice sounding hurt. "Why have you been running from me?" 

Mullins forced fascination with a crack in the boards and managed hoarsely "Jesus, Billy boy, don't you have a wit in your head? Don't you know what I did to you last night?" 

He didn't see so much as feel Billy wince. 

"You didn't do anything to me. I let you, didn't I? You needed me and I was there." he insisted. 

"Billy--" 

"You didn't hurt me!" he interrupted desperately, as though that was all that mattered. "I would have stopped you if you'd hurt me." 

By the very fact the boy mentioned it Mullins knew it was untrue. 

The night before was a mess of distorted time and noises in his mind, but he knew what had happened. The memories were of the taste of tears, the feel of fingernails in his shoulders, the smell of sex and the whimpering of a twelve year old boy. He knew where each scar raised on the boy's back and he knew the ridges of his mouth. And he shouldn't. Whatever had gone through his mind to kiss the child shouldn't have come, and if it did he should never have acted on it. The discolored smoke of the pipe (he knew what it was now, recalling the appearance of the man's eyes; a nasty mixture based in hashish, and the potency of the mixtures was undefendable) should never have changed this, not for a strong man. Not for him. And Jukes was not the boy from Brooklyn; he was no debtors son sold in pubs to the drunk, and he was not the broken soul he'd used. 

How had he thought to find redemption from his crimes in Jukes? 

"I should never have even touched you, boy....It's unforgivable...." 

"That's because there's nothing to forgive." 

The boy reached out his hand to pick up Mullins' and held it loosely between them. 

"I don't want to loose your friendship because of this." he said, sounding very small just then. Mullins managed a weak smile, and reached up to halfheartedly muss the boy's hair. 

"You haven't lost anything, Billy Boy." he answered, and the boy's smile let him breathe. 

_It's just going to take a while....._ 


End file.
